Treasure
by amberpire
Summary: His hair is the color of gold and Tulio has always thought Miguel is a treasure. ;Tulio/Miguel;


Miguel always started it.

His hands are on Tulio's shoulders, shoving him into the wall, pinning him. Emerald eyes hover before his own, narrowed, challenging, and the fight leaves Tulio before it comes. Lips crush against his own, a scratchy goatee rubbing against the other Spaniard's skin and it's a sensation that both scares and excites him.

Miguel's rough not because he likes it better, but because he knows he has to hurry. Tulio will only last so long before his self-restraint and reason kicks in. He's tearing at the taller male's clothes, yanking off his shirt until his hands can roam the flat, toned plane of the man's chest. Tulio shudders under those hands, a strangled sound leaving his throat before a flurry of red indicates Miguel is now also half naked, and once again his lips are stolen.

Tulio doesn't remember when the line between friendship and whatever this is began to blur, but by now, it's nonexistent.

Something flickers in Tulio's mind, like a flame struggling to gain power, but it's hiding and Miguel's trying to push it back with his lips and hands. Tulio's fingers are trailing down Miguel's back, leaving angry lines behind them and Miguel gasps into Tulio's mouth, a muffled groan between bitten lips before his head falls back.

His hair is the color of gold and Tulio has always thought Miguel is a treasure.

That nagging feeling doesn't leave him, even when Miguel struggles with Tulio's pants, even when a hand wraps around his length and he's clutching Miguel, fingers digging into his shoulders as waves of pleasure flood him. He's not sure how he's standing and Miguel is whispering into his ear, "The bed, amigo. The bed," but Tulio shakes his head. He can't get into those sheets because that makes all of this more real and he likes to think that at the end of this, he'll wake up, roll over, and kiss Chel's cheek -

_Chel._

The nagging feeling seems to burst and a gasp of realization leaves him, the hands that were just recently holding on to Miguel with all of their strength now shoving him backwards. Tulio sags against the wall for a moment, just struggling to breathe, and then he's hitching up his pants and trying to find his shirt. Miguel sinks onto the bed on the other side of the room, folding his arms on his knees and letting his hair shield his face and what is upon it; hurt, rejection, replacement.

"We can't keep doing this," Tulio is saying, putting his shirt on and feeling like he's trying to hide in it. He rubs his forehead and lets his knees fail him, slumping to the floor. His black hair is tangles, twisting around his face and the two men sit in silence for a time and let the room speak back of them; echos of pleasure, the ghost of arguments, the bittersweet words of forgiveness. Tulio lifts his head slowly to peek at the man across the room, but Miguel's face is tilted up at the ceiling and his eyes are closed. Tulio gnaws his lip, knows that the empty feeling throbbing in his ribcage is purely self-inflicted, and soon he's crawling across the floor and between the other man's legs. Miguel looks down then, always drawn to Tulio whenever he's close enough, and while Tulio's hands rest on the man's knees, Miguel's occupy themselves with Tulio's cheeks.

"We'd be hanged for this." Tulio's blue eyes are trying to find something in Miguel's that lets him know that it's understood, but there's nothing but want and hurt in those green orbs.

Miguel shakes his head, blonde hair falling away from his ears. "We could be hanged for a hundred reasons. We're conmen, Tulio. We're thieves and liars and no-good cheaters. We've been wanted men since we were sixteen."

Tulio's eyes flutter closed for a moment and he remembers that scrawny excuse for a boy that was Miguel, creeping around the town market with a skill that would make even the pirates jealous as he searched for the best opportunity to snatch an apple or two. Tulio had never considered a life of crime back then, had never imagined he'd call that boy his partner one day.

Miguel's thumb runs under Tulio's eye and they open, searching the face above him. He's seen Miguel change from a boy to a man and has been with him in every step of his life since. There came a time when 'we' and 'us' were much more important than himself and soon he could only find comfort when he was beside Miguel.

"Chel," Tulio tries again, scrambling for reasons to not be in this situation, to not be sitting here with Miguel. "I love her."

Miguel shakes his head slowly at that, eyes closing as his hands slip away from the man and rest on the bed behind him, propping himself up.

Tulio's brows flicker downward, trying to be angry as he stands, shoving a finger in the man's chest. "What? Are you saying I don't?"

"No," Miguel says, and for once he's the calm one, he's the one trying to show Tulio reason. "I'm sure you do love her, but not like you love me."

"Miguel, I'm a man, _you're_ a man -"

"And like we've ever led our life by morals." Miguel's eyes open and harden on the still standing man. "What are we, living our life by a God we've never believed in?"

Tulio looks away and notes with all too bold obviousness the way Miguel says 'we' and not 'your' or 'I', how the two men have become one, and Tulio never really knew where he ended and Miguel began. He thought Chel would change all that, that's she'd be the one to make him settle down and finally detach himself from the man that has literally become his arms and legs when it comes to being able to function, but all she's really been is loud and annoying and mooching off of his money.

Tulio tells himself that he loves her, but really, he was just trying not to love Miguel.

The effort proved itself futile.

"Tulio."

Miguel's hand arches forward, fingers filling the empty spaces between Tulio's too perfectly for comfort and he's tugging him down, bringing the black-haired man to the edge of the bed. Tulio surrenders in silence, looping his arms around Miguel's shoulders and pulling him closer. He's tired of being confused, of not knowing what to think, and when he gazes into those dazzling green eyes, the world melts away.

No matter how hard Tulio tries, there is no resisting, no pushing away when it comes to Miguel. There never has been. Chel disappears, Spain disappears, and there's only this treasure in this bed and Tulio never planned on going to heaven, anyway.


End file.
